During the Qin Dynasty, he was in charge of the net.

For thirty-seven years, this nameless and faceless being has done only one thing: control the Broken Water Sword.

To Luo Wang, he was a dead man.

An octogenarian, all that remains is a withered skeleton wrapped in a thin shirt, and a head of tangled, white beard and hair like dry straw.

The eyes, covered by a thick black cloth, were already two collapsed and twisted craters.

The sword niche was cramped, damp, and cold, but he didn't care.

When thirsty, they would add water from the cracks in the stone wall; when hungry, they would catch a shady rat.

If anyone enters the sword niche to retrieve the Broken Water, he will kill him and make him his food.

At this moment, the Sword Slave of Broken Water sat slumped on the ground, his back as straight as a stone carving.

A strangely shaped longsword was stuck in front of him.

The sword is named Duan Shui (Severing Water). It is neither gold nor jade, and its color is ancient and dark. It feels neither warm nor cold to the touch, and its blade is unusually dull and heavy.

The sword is engraved with the eight-character inscription: "It cannot be drawn without breath, nor released without intention."

He had once grasped the sword, but the invisible sword energy cut his palm.

Duanshui did not acknowledge him.

His hand stroked the dull, cold blade, his rough fingertips moving slowly along the spine.

He will understand its "breathing," and he will gain its approval.

However, the "breathing" of the water cut off was too weak and too indistinct.

He needs to be in perfect harmony with the broken water.

The eyes, those eyes that could only see the blade of the sword but not the breath, became an obstacle.

They deceive, they are distracted, and they see only appearances.

A sharp piece of iron used to sharpen sword blades on the ground pierced his withered eyeball.

The viscous, hot liquid instantly soaked the blindfold.

The inhuman pain almost made him faint, and he suppressed a low growl, like a wild beast gnawing at its bones, in his throat.

However, his body, which sat as still as a stone, did not move an inch.

When the metal piece was pulled out, and then turned to the other eye, he could feel blood flowing down his cheek.

With complete loss of sight, the world is plunged into absolute darkness.

All the senses in the body stretched out infinitely and became infinitely acute in absolute darkness and fear.

The moment when trembling, blood-stained fingers finally touched the blade of the Broken Water Sword again.

Boom!

A heavy, clear breath traveled from the spine of the sword into his body.

He heard it.

The "breathing sound" of water cut off.

From then on, this dark sword niche became his solitary place of solitude.

Day after day, year after year.

The monotonous postures were repeated endlessly, the long sword in his hand rising, falling, dragging, slicing, flipping... every movement was extremely slow.

Every movement was in sync with the "breathing" sound of the water being cut off.

The blade of the longsword in his hand moved slowly through the air, silently, yet it cleaved through the air with a stagnant and heavy sword light.

The damp, hard stone wall at the top of the sword niche has been etched with countless grooves and cracks of varying depths by the intangible sword intent accumulated over time.

Twenty-six years have passed slowly, in the breath of the Broken Water Sword and in his countless swings of the sword.

His skeletal body remained unchanged, except that his hair had turned completely white and the wrinkles on his face had deepened.

Until a storm struck eleven years ago.

Dark clouds loomed over the city, thunder roared, and a torrential downpour lashed the earth, swallowing everything in the boundless blue water.

The underground palace, buried hundreds of feet deep underground, is isolated from the light of the world and from most of the wind and rain.

Layer upon layer of heavy black iron stone doors, and intersecting, cold stone-paved passageways, stripped away the surging thunder and rain from the outside world, leaving only the dull, indistinct sound of thunder.

But this torrential rain that swept across the sky eventually broke through the layers of barriers.

The damp rainwater seeped in through the fine cracks in the rock wall, slowly condensing in the crevices.

Finally, a single drop of water fell suddenly.

Tick.

Drop by drop.

"water?"

His dry, withered lips moved silently, uttering the first word unrelated to swords in many years.

He remained motionless, his aura still as deep and still as an abyss, yet the sound of each falling water droplet was clearly audible to him.

For 21 years, all he has heard is the "breathing" of water cut off.

But today, he heard another voice.

One sword.

A single drop of water splits into several parts.

Another sword strike.

The scattered water droplets split into dozens of parts.

Now, there is no sound.

perhaps.

Cutting off water does not mean cutting iron or metal...

In the stone chamber that had been silent for twenty-one years, a stiff arc suddenly appeared on the old man's blindfolded face.

His bark-like hands suddenly gripped the rusty longsword on his knee.

"Water... too, is subject to birth and death."

His self-talk was low and hoarse, yet it carried a strange calmness, like that of a child discovering a mystery for the first time.

Water droplets condensing at the top of the rock wall is life.

A water droplet briefly falling through the air is alive.

Water droplets falling to the ground collide and shatter into countless pieces, which is death.

"Sound arises, sound dies. Form gathers, form perishes."

The Sword Slave suddenly straightened up, his back bones cracking, and raised his long sword into the air.

The sword blade slashed out with overwhelming force, aiming at the dripping sound that had not yet been heard in the air!

An invisible storm composed of countless sword lights suddenly surged within the deathly silent sword niche.

Fast, incredibly fast!

Incredibly fast!

"Break!" A hoarse, inhuman voice rang out, followed by violent heaving of a withered chest.

"Water cut off! The sound of water cutting off! The birth and death of water cut off!"

The target is no longer a tangible enemy.

What he killed was the sound before the water droplets rang.

The world fell completely silent at that moment.

He finally understood.

"Cutting off water...cutting off life! Cutting off water...that's true killing!"

He tried to grasp the water-breaking sword again.

This time, Duan Shui wasn't as resistant to him.

The invisible sword energy that flew out from the hilt of the sword weakened considerably.

But he could sense that he was still missing an opportunity.

An opportunity to completely control the water shortage.

On this day, he knew that the opportunity had finally arrived.

That person is very special.

His aura was very similar to that of water.

It's not rainwater from the sky, but water from an underground river.

His sword could not kill him in one strike.

But if one hit isn't enough to kill him, then ten, a hundred, a thousand hits will do.

But when that person easily picked up the Water-Breaking Sword, he was bewildered.

Why did she, who had resisted his 37-year water shortage, so easily fall into that person's hands?

But the next moment, he was filled with joy.

Because he knew that his opportunity had finally arrived.

Kill the person in front of him, and he will have complete control over the water-cutting technique.

He was overjoyed.

He no longer holds back.

Each sword strike carried the killing intent accumulated over thirty-seven years of seclusion.

Each sword strike was so fast that it was impossible to react, understand, or comprehend.

But to his surprise, the other party was also getting faster and faster.

The other party seemed to have seen through his movements and tracked his trajectory.

But so what?

What the eyes see is only the surface.

His breathing was invisible to the other person.

He was certain that this sword strike would kill him.

But the sword strike, which was destined to kill him, missed its mark.

The other party got it.

He looked at the other person's chest.

There was something there, something he hadn't even sensed before.

His withered figure finally collapsed, exhausted, onto the cold stone slab.

The two deep holes, blindfolded, completely lost their luster.